Everywhere
by Darkira
Summary: Waiting for The Call. Is receiving the call and getting closure better than never knowing for sure? AH/AU/J&E Extreme angst-warning.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, just torture them. The story is mine.

**A/N:** Thanks for mycrookedsmile for looking this over.

If there are mistakes in it, totally my fault because I didn't check it again, lol.

Oh and the working name of this was 'Angstfest'. It is HEAVY. You might not want to read it if you're not into angst at all. JS.

About continuing it? Maybe drabbles at some point or something... Don't know.

-xxXxx-

**Everywhere**

I sat there for a long time. Hours, probably. That's what my life had come to, after him. Either because of my tears or the rain pounding on the glass window, I was unable to see through. I knew what was there though: the large expanse of the backyard, the little pond and the gazebo next to it. Neither had been there when we first bought this house.

The loss of him weighed me down. I could feel it in my bones; my flesh screamed his name whenever I thought I caught his scent while turning my head in the room. My skin felt numb while the rest of me was in constant pain. The only thing that could awaken my skin would be his touch. My skin was as good as dead.

The sorrow, the despair, the loss.

Funny how you could feel nothing even when your emotions were crushing you.

_The absence of him is everywhere._

Where did I hear that sentence? It makes no difference now. Why? Because it is true.

The window-seat I was sitting on was deep enough for an adult to sit on comfortably. I could stretch my legs in front of me and my toes still didn't touch the other side of the window's frame.

I remembered it like it was yesterday.

_It was the last thing we'd built together. The windowsill for me to sit on while he worked on his computer on the other side of the room. He'd either write or check our stocks. I'd stare out of the window and think, then draw something in the large sketchbook on my lap._

"_It looks inviting. I love the colors, but then again you chose them so I'm not surprised," he said and I smiled as I leaned my head back on his shoulder._

_The fabrics were deep, rich colors. Blue with specks of silver mixed with earthy brown. The throw pillows were quickly tossed on the floor when he mumbled something about christening the windowsill and took me right there, in the late afternoon sun that warmed us through the glass._

It seemed like time had stopped. The sun had retreated behind the cover of clouds. How long had it been now?

My cell vibrated; his sister was calling, again.

With a sigh I pushed the button and raised the phone to my ear.

"How long has it been?" was my way of greeting her.

"Three weeks, four days." Her voice was compassionate.

"It feels like more."

"Yes, most days it does for me too." She sighed. At least she had her family to keep her mind occupied. Her two children were too young to know what exactly was wrong.

"Still nothing?" I asked, even though I knew the answer.

There was a deep, weary sigh and then, "It wasn't your fault. You know he would have gone anyway, he wanted to take the job and when he decided something he always did it. Not your fault. You were a supportive husband like you should be," she said once again, those words were like her mantra when we spoke of him.

"I think I know that, rationally, but my heart says I should have not let him go." I sighed, in turn using my own mantra.

"He knew the risks. You did too. We all did. Even his boss says they warned him not to go to that zone. It was not safe there."

Another set of words I knew by heart.

I loved my husband for his passion. He had been so passionate about us getting married after dating a couple of years so we had, not that I had anything against that idea. He had been a journalist before we met. He was back home from another dangerous country, taking a mandatory break when we met each other that evening in the club. He looked pained, mostly because of the loudness and the way people thought it was the most important thing in the world. He later told me he had seen so much in such a short time, that it changed him forever. The club scene was something he learned to loathe as soon as he got back from 'the job'.

It was a chance encounter. I had been out with my friend Tyler and his boyfriend and I wanted to leave because I had a headache. My future husband made me forget all about that in an instant. He had been anxious to get away from the noise and the grinding bodies.

We were both leaving the club early, and bumped to each other by the door. One look and we knew we had found it: our other half. It sounded like a cliche, we knew, but when we spent the next four years getting to know each other, getting married and renovating our house, nobody questioned us.

His mother called us each other's forever. Who knew forever could be such a short time?

A month and a half ago he left again. To another war zone, in a country with a reputation of not being very friendly towards journalists. He promised he'd be back, he'd be careful. He'd never leave me. So I let him go because I knew it was what he needed to be happy. To do the work he was supposed to. The freelancing he had done locally wasn't enough for him.

At first there were almost daily emails. Then they stopped. Then his boss called his sister. She called me. My world broke down around me.

He hadn't been seen since traveling through a particularly dangerous zone three weeks and four days ago. They had taken precautions; journalists and photographers from different countries were moving from area to area together. They all vanished without a trace.

A video was posted online somewhere. Another journalist, from Germany, was shot in front of the cameras and the message was clear. None of the journalists who had been with him would make it out of the jungle alive.

The count was up to six kidnapped now, well, five if you didn't count the one they shot. The whole world knew what happened to him.

I didn't know what anyone was doing about the situation—if the countries were negotiating, if the rebels had made demands. None of that made any difference because I'd get the news eventually.

So I went on, sleeping when my body forced me to. Ignoring calls I didn't absolutely have to take, after all, The Call, that they had found his body, could come any minute. I didn't want to hold the line.

I did eat. I needed the strength to be able to wait for my call. I only left the house when I needed to restock the fridge. It took me fifteen minutes to get to the store, a maximum of ten minutes to shop (I chose to go so when there were less people around to slow me down) and then another fifteen to get back home.

Every time, even though I had my cell with me at all times, I checked the answering machine at the house before doing anything else. Just in case. My email and his, I checked those too as I had a password for his for emergencies. If this wasn't an emergency, I didn't know what was.

-xxXxx-

Nine weeks.

It was almost summer. There was a bit of color in the flowerbeds around the gazebo now. It rained a bit less but it was still your typical Forks weather.

No word, nothing.

I wasn't grieving, that was something I was reserving for the moment I finally got the call. Grief would let me say goodbye.

Now I just felt his absence; he could have been anywhere and I wouldn't have been any wiser. I couldn't grieve if there was no body, no funeral. No grave I could take flowers to.

Somehow I kept on waiting. Sitting on the blue and silver covers, the brown pillows gathered behind my back.

I would have to go to the store today. I was waiting for the first wave of people to get to their schools and places of work before driving to town.

While I waited I wondered why his sister hadn't called me yet. The calls were less frequent now. At first they came twice a day, then once a day. They were like the last droplets of water that was poured from a pitcher. Finally they'd end, I knew. Now it was every couple of days.

I never called her, she always chose to call me instead and I was grateful. Calling her was almost like I was going to admit something was wrong. Of course I knew nothing was right but I was trying to hold onto the facade I had built. The whole town looked at me with the same sad eyes. They knew he was one of the journalists that had gone missing in that god forsaken part of the world.

I stood there, in the line at store. There was a line for once, for a reason unknown to me. Had I forgotten some holiday? No...that wasn't it.

"There's a party at the Newton house." I heard a voice behind me. It was the first friendly tone I had heard in over two months. It was nice to hear the lack of pity in it.

Turning around I faced her.

"Good day, Angela." I managed a little smile.

"I want to ask 'how are you,' Edward, but I know how you are already," she said and I huffed a tiny bit of something that almost sounded like laughter.

"I won't be okay until I know," I told her and she nodded, her eyes full of compassion but not pity.

Then it dawned on me that she might just be the one person in the whole town who knew how I actually felt. My realization must have been clear on my face, because it made her giggle softly and place her hand on my arm.

"Don't worry, I'm just glad someone doesn't remember. To you I'm the librarian, not the widow of a soldier who died in Iraq." She smiled, the sadness still flashing on her pretty features.

"So, what's this about the Newton house?" I asked and she smiled, explaining to me that Mike and Jessica's twins were turning ten tomorrow and people were doing last minute shopping for the big party and picnic and whatnot.

"You're doing your shopping in the wrong time today," she said and I ducked my head a bit, probably blushing.

"Hey, none of that now, Edward. I didn't go out during the daytime for the first two months. I shopped at the gas station at night when I needed something Lauren couldn't bring for me. I know how it is. I'm just hoping that you get closure in some form. Even if it is like mine," she said and smiled warmly.

I could only nod, then the line moved again and I got to pay for my groceries.

"You know, Angie, would you like to come over some day? For a coffee or some wine?" I asked her and she smiled again.

"Sure, I think I have your house number somewhere. I'll call you once I get my schedule for next week?" she asked as we walked towards our cars in the parking lot.

"Absolutely. Thanks." I smiled for the first time since the phone call nine weeks ago.

-xxXxx-

That night I lay in our bed. I was staring at the ceiling, just like I usually did when I was willing my body to relax.

Every half an hour or so a car drove by, but I wasn't paying attention anymore. The first month I nearly jumped out of my skin when the cars passed by our house. Not anymore.

He wasn't coming home, not like that, without letting me know beforehand. He wouldn't do that to me and I knew it now.

Somehow I managed to fall asleep. In the morning, after the mandatory caffeine and toast, I took my sketchbook and went to sit in the gazebo. I had the back door of the house propped open so I'd hear the phone and my cell was next to me on the bench.

When would I tire of this, the waiting?

And then I was drawing, not really paying attention to what exactly, but I was drawing properly, letting the image flow out of me and it felt strangely good.

When I was half way done I was snapped out of it by my cell going off.

His sister.

We had the usual call, no news, still missing him, her family fine, me not so much but couldn't be helped. The usual.

When I set the cell down again, I looked at the sketch.

It was an image of him.

I had even used some color—his eyes, hair and lips were lightly brushed by the colors I remembered so well. His expression was a bit sad, like he knew something I didn't, but there was love in his eyes.

I don't know how long I sat there, looking at the image and not thinking anything in particular. Hunger took me back inside and I had something to eat and went back to spending my time sitting on the windowsill.

-xxXxx-

Two days later the house phone rang and shook me from staring at the closed fridge door. I had been staring at the little notes there, the few photographs and some drawings from children we knew.

I wasn't even scared to answer the phone, feeling so disconnected from reality.

"Yes?" I breathed into the receiver.

"Edward, it's Angela. How about tomorrow night?" she asked and I had to think hard for a moment. Then she clarified, "The wine. At your place."

"Oh...sure. I have wine but you can bring something if you want to," I said and she confirmed she'd be here after she got off work and we hung up.

I liked the fact that I didn't need to apologize and that she didn't need to explain what she meant. She knew what I was going through and that helped so much.

When Angie arrived at the house the next evening, she was carrying a box, chocolate cake from the local bakery, and a lovely, friendly smile.

I found myself feeling happy that she was there. For the first time since my husband disappeared, I felt good about something, anything.

The chatting was almost easy, the laughter mostly genuine. After some dinner—I made some mushroom ravioli for Angela—and some cake, we sat on the couch near the fireplace and enjoyed the wine.

It was like sitting there with a sister, almost. I was smiling a little and I saw Angie smiling in response, happy that I was showing emotion.

She was just telling me a story about the old librarian, Mrs. Joyce, when my cell rang.

It was on the coffee table next to my knee. Immediately I knew it was too soon; I had just spoken with his sister the other day.

The panic was clear on my face when Angela passed me the phone.

She didn't ask if I wanted her to get it for me. She knew I had to take the call myself.

Somehow we both knew what call it was. That in the next minute I'd know for sure. I closed my eyes for a moment and swallowed hard.

I tried to even my frantic breathing before I swapped my wineglass for the phone and pressed the button.

"Yes?"

-xxXxx-


	2. Ending I

**Author's Note:**

Because you people reviewed the original one shot and most of you asked for more, for a closure of some sort...

Well, I didn't know what would happen. I honestly didn't.

So I went to the random word generator and took ten words and tossed them at Edward.

I told him we needed an ending. He said we needed two.

So here they are.

We hope you like them.

(Even though they haven't been beta'd.)

:: :: :: :: ::

**Everywhere**

- alternative ending I -

**Calm**

I listen to her weep. Her sobbing fades out occasionally and I just feel numb.

They aren't happy tears.

Their mother takes the phone from his sister and talks to me calmly, how she manages I don't know.

"...found the rebel camp...only few days too late...from the state of the...the bodies..."

And that's what he is now. My love. A body they'll finally ship back home.

Closure. Did I know it would all end like this? Or was I still hoping for something more, him coming home alive, no matter how broken he'd be?

_Hope is grief's best music. _

**Compassionate**

Angie sits with me and finally takes the phone from my hand before I drop it. I think she's talking to his mother, something about schedules for the next week or so. She asks if they are absolutely sure. I realize I hadn't asked that. What kind of a husband am I? Not making sure if it really was his body they found from the shallow grave somewhere in the jungle?

And then I'm in the bathroom, retching violently and I don't even remember moving from the couch.

"Some day it will get better." Angie whispers from the doorway.

**Quantity**

Seven different casseroles, chocolate cakes, cookies, fruit salad... Do they think I have appetite?

I mostly sit on the window-seat and stare out. Angela tucks me into bed every night. We're waiting for the funeral I don't want to go to.

"I wonder how many people will be there?" Someone asks.

"I'd expect quite a few...probably all around the country if not the world." Another voice answers.

"I heard they had cut the poor boy into pieces..."

That's when I scream and I don't stop until my dad comes in with a syringe he sticks into me.

**Pollution**

I don't remember it afterwards but I'm told there were hundreds of strangers in our little town. For my Jasper.

Press was there too. Some to actually pay their respects to him, most of them were there for a story. I vaguely remember punching some guy that got too close with a camera, trying to get a picture of me.

The noises are the worst. Different tones of human grief, noise pollution. I start to close things off until there's nothing but a thrum in my ears, something annoying but bearable, no words.

I stay inside my head for weeks.

**Public**

Three months after the funeral I finally drag myself into the town again. Angie has been my rock, the only one knowing what I'm going through. I couldn't have done it without her and we both know it. When she mentioned a certain chocolate box in the grocery shop, I snorted at her, but that's what I'm there to buy.

"Edward?" a surprised voice asks and I can see Jacob, a high school friend of Jasper's.

"Hi..." I manage and suddenly his warmth is in my personal space, strong arms around me and I'm not driving him away.

**Ride**

Jasper's sister Rose and Jake take me and Angie for road trip. They show us all the places Jasper had loved as a kid. It's summer again, beautiful and warm and the trip takes us almost two weeks.

When we arrive in a small town in Texas, Rose squeels and points at a very old looking Ferris wheel. Apparently they lived in this town when Jasper and Rose were kids. We go for a ride in the rusty old thing, terrified for our lives.

It makes me realize I'm still alive and I don't want to die.

I still ache.

**Spread**

That autumn I'm getting over the loss slowly and almost surely.

When Angie comes by one evening and looks sheepish, I know she's up to no good. There's a white kitten in the carrier she's holding. New, inquisitive life, ready to be loved.

Two days later I open a magazine. There's a series of images from the jungle. I'm staring at the place where half of my heart stopped beating. Breaking down, I cry without tears.

The cat senses my distress and jumps on top of the pages, plopping down and asking for belly rubs.

Smiling, I name her Hope.

**Keen**

I find it funny how some people seem so interested in making me feel better. They don't see that all I need is time and space to resettle my bearings. Both my family and Jasper's know this, so does Angie who never assumes I want to see her but still manages to pop up when I least expect it but need her the most. And then there's Jacob.

He has moved back to town and I see him around every now and then. He seems hesitant, not keen like the others, and it takes me time to figure out why.

**Talk**

'We need to talk.' It should be an ominous thing to say, but this time there's a hint of hope for some reason. It's almost the anniversary of Jasper's disappearance and I can't face it alone. Angela is out of town for family reasons and I've avoided everyone but Jake. So I call him.

"We need to talk, and I might need company..." I manage to say.

"I'll be there in five." His deep, soothing voice says and I feel better already.

I know there are ways to go, but the possibility of not being alone calms me.

**Owner**

There are things neither of us can change, like how much we both loved Jasper in our own ways or how we miss him, or even the fact that slowly there's an attraction forming between me and Jacob. It's a slow burn, comes out of nowhere and makes us both feel so very guilty at first.

We try to talk about it sometimes, but it's still too difficult.

Jasper will always have, _own_, my heart but I can't let it die with him. He was my life, but my life can't end with his, he would have never allowed it.


	3. Alternative Ending 2

**Everywhere**

- alternative ending II -

**Calm**

The voice is quiet, eerily so. But I still recognize it immediately.

"_Edward..."_

The tears are running on my face and I can't understand anything but the fact that it's _him_, he's not gone, he's still there.

My heart sings as we weep, no words are necessary. Angela beside me smiles through her tears.

Finally someone else takes the phone from Jasper and says the words I've been longing to hear for so long; he'll be coming home in two days.

All my inner chaos is gone, all that is left is anticipation but even that feels calm now.

**Compassionate**

Angela is the one who calls Jasper's family and gets the details when all I can do is pace through the rooms of our home.

They had found the rebel camp and gotten the hostages out safely. Nobody gives information on the condition in which my husband is. That makes me more nervous than anything.

"Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like," Angela says the evening before Jasper should be coming home. "If Ben would've come home. I'll never know but I'm happy you'll get your husband back." Her smile is honest and full of her warmth.

**Quantity**

The strange unmarked SUV that drops him off is creepy. It's like from a movie and it makes me nervous all over again. I haven't heard Jasper speak other than my name on the phone and his sister tells me he doesn't speak much at all. They tried to get through to him on the phone, unlike me. I preferred to wait, to see him for myself.

The skinny man who gets out of the car is a shadow of my vibrant husband. Suddenly I'm not just anxious, I'm scared. It's not the quality of his injuries I'm afraid of.

**Pollution**

He flinches when I touch his arm, but I need to make sure he's real.

For the first week he speaks only the minimum and our home becomes a quiet place. Phones ringing feel like an insult towards our silence.

One morning I find him sitting on the window-seat with a mug of coffee in his pale, skinny hands.

"I'm trying my best, Edward." he says quietly and I sneak closer to kiss his temple.

He leans towards the touch before pulling away again and I give him his space, just like I do every night in our bed.

**Public**

Weeks later we have to hire someone to take care of the calls and emails we get daily. Everyone wants him to make his experience public. They offer him deals for a book or a movie, appearances on talk shows and even Oprah wants him.

All I want is my husband back for real. All Jasper wants is to be left alone for now.

It goes on for weeks until one night he wakes up from another of his nightmares and I feel him curling up against my side for comfort.

The next morning he's willing to talk to me.

**Ride**

It's surreal, watching from behind the cameras as he's being interviewed in the one show he agreed to do. The old, confident Jasper is there for a moment as he recollects the worst weeks of his life and answers questions.

When the cameras go off, he walks into my arms and weeps, letting the mask fall. He's holding on by a thread.

I take him to the airport, this time canceling our flight and to rent a car. We need time for us, without interruptions.

The drive home takes two days, it's not enough but at least it's a start.

**Spread**

We spend two nights in hotels and Jasper makes me pick good ones. He says he doesn't want any dingy motels and I have to smile. It's the first real demand he's made since he got back.

The second night we get room service dinner and sit in our bath robes on the bed, watching stupid game shows on TV.

It feels good, almost like old times and I know Jasper feels it too. After we've eaten, he strips his robe and stretches on the bed with his eyes closed.

It's the first time I'm seeing him naked, with all his new scars and I take my time, kissing each of them.

**Keen**

The flood gates opened after that night. Jasper doesn't want to drive, doesn't trust himself enough yet, but as I drive the rest of the way home his hand is on my thigh.

When we stop for lunch, he sits next to me in the diner's booth. It's like he can't be close enough. It scares and elevates me at the same time.

When we get home, the first thing he does after we get inside is lock the door behind us. Then suddenly his lips latch on to mine and he growls into the kiss that bruises my lips.

**Talk**

He drags me towards the bedroom, stumbling with the buttons of my shirt and almost trips us both when he kicks his shoes off in the hall. I'm trying to go with the flow, but something in me resists. I'm not sure if this is right, if he's ready, if _I'm _ready.

"Jasper..."

"No talking," he growls against my neck as he pushes me to the bed and climbs on top of me.

Suddenly I'm incredibly aroused. The man hovering above me looks glorious, not scared or uncomfortable. He looks like _my Jasper_.

Maybe words are overrated anyway?

**Owner**

There is no hesitation or awkwardness. He prepares me with great care even if his movements lack finesse in his haste to get as close to me as possible. If he wasn't so clearly my Jasper in that moment, I would be scared of his intensity.

But I'm not scared, I'm waiting. When I can't wait anymore I pull him closer, wrap my legs around him and pull him into my body. My arms wrap around him too and we stay like that for a long time.

No words are needed, everything is right in our little world again.

_Home._

:: :: :: :: ::

**A/N: **So, how was it?


End file.
